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Topic: More Futurisitic Fun Than You Really Wanted, part I of V (Read 62178 times)

The following is a transcript of a recording made by Ron Young, a Paynite Templar, on June 16th, 2013. Ron was reported as missing in action on June 19th, and has not been seen since.

These damn “Nessie” outbreaks have gotten worse since early spring. There’s no telling where in the sewers they’ll pop up, and then the Met has a hell of a time hushing things up when some poor geezer gets hauled down a storm drain.

There’s really no easy way to deal with them, especially since the secular establishment denies that they exist...The people in the street know, of course, they always know, because at their level, you deal with reality as it is, or you die. Anyway, there’s noting to be done for it but to suit up and crawl down after them.

You can’t use a gun, of course, because of the methane and like that, so you have to use axes and spears, like the old days. Of course, them knights and such didn’t have sealed power armor...For all the good it does.

Anyway, we all meet in the basement of the monastery, and spend 3 hours hooking ourselves up to our suits. Then Payne comes down and feeds us all something that acts like PCP, and tells us that this is Holy Work, and how this is “what Curly would have wanted”. Yeah, I can see that. Curly was all about keeping the little people safe.

Within 35 minutes, we’re all as mad as barking Welshmen, and they open the seals on the basement entrance to the sewers. Because of the blessed combat drug, it’s hard to say what happens after that, except that it’s disgusting, and there’s squealing and blood and sometimes you have to step over the neon-orange of what’s left of your mate’s combat suit, and he’s just bobbing in the filth, while his suit fills up with sewage through the horrible rents in his armor that the Nessies inflicted while they was killing him.

Anyway, there’s talk of a big nest, maybe the original nest, halfway to London. We’re heading out in 12 hours, four of us, just for scouting, like. If it’s the real thing, we’ll go in mob-handed and maybe knock them back down to a minor menace.

Payne says we have to do this, which means Pixie knows we have to do this. Pixie says it, Payne yes-dears it, and that settles it. See you in a day and a half or so. You can stand me a pint, and I’ll tell you how it went. Cheers.

Transcript ends.

Logged

" It's just that Depeche Mode were a bunch of optimistic loveburgers."- TGRR, shaming himself forever, 7/8/2017

"Billy, when I say that ethics is our number one priority and safety is also our number one priority, you should take that to mean exactly what I said. Also quality. That's our number one priority as well. Don't look at me that way, you're in the corporate world now and this is how it works."- TGRR, raising the bar at work.

" It's just that Depeche Mode were a bunch of optimistic loveburgers."- TGRR, shaming himself forever, 7/8/2017

"Billy, when I say that ethics is our number one priority and safety is also our number one priority, you should take that to mean exactly what I said. Also quality. That's our number one priority as well. Don't look at me that way, you're in the corporate world now and this is how it works."- TGRR, raising the bar at work.

"My father says that almost the whole world is asleep. Everybody you know, everybody you see, everybody you talk to. He says that only a few people are awake, and they live in a state of constant, total amazement."

" It's just that Depeche Mode were a bunch of optimistic loveburgers."- TGRR, shaming himself forever, 7/8/2017

"Billy, when I say that ethics is our number one priority and safety is also our number one priority, you should take that to mean exactly what I said. Also quality. That's our number one priority as well. Don't look at me that way, you're in the corporate world now and this is how it works."- TGRR, raising the bar at work.

I still remember my first time putting the hat on. It’s not a hat though really. A hat doesn’t have a full lexan face shield with integrated infra red, re breather, neck gaskets, trauma pads or radio pickups.

I’d been in training for a month, just on the suits, and it was all second nature. Before we go under, we all recite together. It’s a function check, as we mount on, or in to, each piece of the armor, done in unison as a call and answer.

“May this maille, blessed by Payne, guard thy skin.”

“MAY IT GUARD OUR SKIN, AS HONOR GUARDS OUR SOULS.”

“May the servos of thy arms and legs carry thee into peril and back again.”

“MAY THEY AID US THERE IF OUR TASK NOT BE DONE, OR LEAVE US IF OUR TIME BE UP.”

“MAY WE BE THE ARMORED FIST OF PAYNE, TO CARRY OUT HIS SENTENCE UPON THE VILE.”

It’s rousing, no matter how many times I do it. That and the drugs really get your game face on. It also conveniently doesn’t mention things like the urethra plugs, or rubber baffles sewn into the ass of the suits. Details, unsightly, but necessary.

Some people hate the feeling of being surrounded by armor, some find the stuff too heavy (take the time and tune your servos asshole), and some freak out inside the hat. Claustrophobic. It’s not something anyone can do, and if you can’t then congratulations, you’re SANE.

I love it though. I feel fucking ten feet tall and five feet wise when I’m armored up. (Even though it only boost my height about 12 inches, all told.) I used to love the medieval sports groups, armoring up in a mix of homemade armor and hockey gear to swing sticks, so maybe I’m predisposed. It gets scary the first time you loose power and fall into a sewage main. Hell, who WOULDN’T that scare. You learn to keep your cool, though, assess things. With your emergency floats, punch out explosives, and the auxiliary knives tied around, you get out when the getting is good.

Got my suit screwed bad once. The 3rd one I lost, and I was PISSED. Chaplain said I’d have to prep lasagna for the team and do all the cleanup solo if I lost another. Wouldn’t you know? That DAY a damn Nessie cuts my main power trunks and dumps me in the drink, a water main too deep to recover the suit from. Man, I came out roaring foaming mad, knife in hand from cutting my straps, ready to gut the thing by hand. Took Williams and Tycho, still armored mind, to hold me back.

Chaplain just laughed when we got back to rally point, and told me I had a spirit no trial could quench… and to get my ass into the fucking kitchen.

Longest walk back to the base EVER.

This seemed like a logical way to make love of fighting a career. Well, maybe it’s more a lifestyle. I’m some kind of warrior monk now, technically, but best gig I can think of for someone who likes dishing out hand – to – hand pain, and we’re getting some legit dangerous monsters. Public service, and it’s always good to do what you love. Fuck, it was either this or joust and Ren Faires.

Our "drug free" military at work. We gobbled those things like Pez back in 1990/91, and it makes you a pair of eyeballs and ears, not to mention a complete moral vacuum with an itchy trigger finger and a "I DON'T GIVE A FUCK! attitude. Bikers do less crank than we did. And then a few years back, we accidentally a bunch of Canadian troops.

Logged

" It's just that Depeche Mode were a bunch of optimistic loveburgers."- TGRR, shaming himself forever, 7/8/2017

"Billy, when I say that ethics is our number one priority and safety is also our number one priority, you should take that to mean exactly what I said. Also quality. That's our number one priority as well. Don't look at me that way, you're in the corporate world now and this is how it works."- TGRR, raising the bar at work.

I still remember my first time putting the hat on. It’s not a hat though really. A hat doesn’t have a full lexan face shield with integrated infra red, re breather, neck gaskets, trauma pads or radio pickups.

I’d been in training for a month, just on the suits, and it was all second nature. Before we go under, we all recite together. It’s a function check, as we mount on, or in to, each piece of the armor, done in unison as a call and answer.

“May this maille, blessed by Payne, guard thy skin.”

“MAY IT GUARD OUR SKIN, AS HONOR GUARDS OUR SOULS.”

“May the servos of thy arms and legs carry thee into peril and back again.”

“MAY THEY AID US THERE IF OUR TASK NOT BE DONE, OR LEAVE US IF OUR TIME BE UP.”

“MAY WE BE THE ARMORED FIST OF PAYNE, TO CARRY OUT HIS SENTENCE UPON THE VILE.”

It’s rousing, no matter how many times I do it. That and the drugs really get your game face on. It also conveniently doesn’t mention things like the urethra plugs, or rubber baffles sewn into the ass of the suits. Details, unsightly, but necessary.

Some people hate the feeling of being surrounded by armor, some find the stuff too heavy (take the time and tune your servos asshole), and some freak out inside the hat. Claustrophobic. It’s not something anyone can do, and if you can’t then congratulations, you’re SANE.

I love it though. I feel fucking ten feet tall and five feet wise when I’m armored up. (Even though it only boost my height about 12 inches, all told.) I used to love the medieval sports groups, armoring up in a mix of homemade armor and hockey gear to swing sticks, so maybe I’m predisposed. It gets scary the first time you loose power and fall into a sewage main. Hell, who WOULDN’T that scare. You learn to keep your cool, though, assess things. With your emergency floats, punch out explosives, and the auxiliary knives tied around, you get out when the getting is good.

Got my suit screwed bad once. The 3rd one I lost, and I was PISSED. Chaplain said I’d have to prep lasagna for the team and do all the cleanup solo if I lost another. Wouldn’t you know? That DAY a damn Nessie cuts my main power trunks and dumps me in the drink, a water main too deep to recover the suit from. Man, I came out roaring foaming mad, knife in hand from cutting my straps, ready to gut the thing by hand. Took Williams and Tycho, still armored mind, to hold me back.

Chaplain just laughed when we got back to rally point, and told me I had a spirit no trial could quench… and to get my ass into the fucking kitchen.

Longest walk back to the base EVER.

This seemed like a logical way to make love of fighting a career. Well, maybe it’s more a lifestyle. I’m some kind of warrior monk now, technically, but best gig I can think of for someone who likes dishing out hand – to – hand pain, and we’re getting some legit dangerous monsters. Public service, and it’s always good to do what you love. Fuck, it was either this or joust and Ren Faires.

11/10.

There is nothing - NOTHING - I love more than getting stuffed in my own thread.

Logged

" It's just that Depeche Mode were a bunch of optimistic loveburgers."- TGRR, shaming himself forever, 7/8/2017

"Billy, when I say that ethics is our number one priority and safety is also our number one priority, you should take that to mean exactly what I said. Also quality. That's our number one priority as well. Don't look at me that way, you're in the corporate world now and this is how it works."- TGRR, raising the bar at work.

"My father says that almost the whole world is asleep. Everybody you know, everybody you see, everybody you talk to. He says that only a few people are awake, and they live in a state of constant, total amazement."